Precise Uncertainties
by Americana Psychotica
Summary: Harry becomes an outcast with his inheritance; a craving for the unthinkable, the ability to bend time, and an enduring dislike of one of his closest friends, he is driven to form a wary alliance with Draco in hopes of surviving the year.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N-**

Alrighty – Z told me not to post until I finished another fic, but my muse is kicking me mercilessly, and I really want to get this out there.

So. Part II of my creature!fic experiment. Descending Grace is my lighter, sweeter one – I wuvvers Fae, but I needed something...a little more like the creepers from Depthless (sorta). So! This is the dark creature!fic, whereas DG is the light creature!fic. An experiment, the both of them; I don't know the genre, but I'm dealing with weirdness, so it'll be M, probably for gore. So, without further ado, here is Precise Uncertainties; read, review, and pray for me, dear readers. XD

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><p>The ticking noise was faint, yet overtook the other night noises to engage the Sandman in battle. The sleep thief woke him soon after, allied by a frustrated snowy owl rattling the bars of her cage. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, kicking off the thin, twisted sheet, pushing sweat drenched fringe out of his eyes as he padded over to the cage and tugged it open.<p>

"Shh, Hedwig – if I could let you out, I would..." She seemed to settle a little on top of the cage, watching her friend return to the bed with luminous gold eyes. He dropped his head into his hands with a noisy exhale.

"What time is it..." Green eyes lighted on the faintly glowing clock face to his right between his fingers, and he read the time aloud.

"1:14..." He sighed again and lifted his head, stretching.

"Wish we could leave now," he yawned, directing the comment at his preening companion. She didn't reply, and he shrugged a little, smirking a little at his expectation of a reaction. He looked to the small, obscured pile of birthday leavings strewn across the top of his trunk, smirk turning to a sad smile. The image was a forlorn one – as if, despite his turning sixteen, his birthday had become a time of mourning for him. He slid back into the bed, trying to reclaim sleep.

Thirty seven minutes passed, and the moment the clock reflected 1:51, the pain began. Waves of it wracked his body, jerking him from the half-slumber he'd achieved and twisting his insides. Clipped syllables ran through his mind, and he spasmed again, fighting the urge to vomit as his insides attempted to invert themselves. Lights played behind his eyes, and when he forced them open, he saw them beneath his skin too – like cerulean maggots, wriggling frantically under a layer of pale flesh. He squeezed his eyes shut against the image, and the pain intensified. Hedwig screeched in alarm, wings snapping out and buffeting the wizard with air, but her efforts to calm him or perhaps summon help were to no avail. He finally screamed, pain unfurling like some sort of lazy predator in his chest, then exploding through his body one last time; the sheer agony pushed him out of consciousness, and he blacked out at last, the lights beneath his skin dimming, then winking out, one by one.

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><p>The next morning dawned more brilliantly than usual, yet it was quiet; birds did not sing, and the wind scarcely dared blow. Harry opened his eyes to weak sunlight struggling to filter through his heavy curtains and the bars; he'd come awake all at once, the completeness of the action unnerving. He sat up slowly, stiff muscles complaining at the movement.<p>

"Hedwig-" He paused, staring. She had returned to the cage, and perched as far away from him as possible, head almost sinking into her fluffy body, eyes far larger than normal.

"Hedwig, what-"

"Boy! Get up!" He started, blinking. Vernon was up – before him? Confusion dawned behind green eyes as he slowly eased the door open and padded into the hallway. The meaty troll who attempted to pass for human roared something incomprehensible at him, and it was all he could do to blink and stare. The pudgy face turned an unhealthy shade of purple, and the man barreled toward him, spittle flying from his mouth.

"Boy, where's our breakfast!" Harry continued to stare at him, feeling a strange apathy he could not shake, despite the panicked part of his mind that _knew _he'd end up with broken bones – or worse – for his refusal to answer. The first blow was typical; a closed fist backhand to his jaw. He hit the wall, but didn't fall, eyes still locked on his tormenter. The blows continued to rain down, but he barely felt it; the strangeness of his physical numbness contrasted with his mental terror, and something screeched above the furious whirling thoughts, unleashing sheer agony behind his eyes, worse than the pain of the scar, worse than anything his uncle had ever done for him. He reached up as the next blow descended.

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><p>Severus Snape was not a person easily categorized in those pigeon-holes of 'morning person' or 'night owl'; he was adaptable. That did not, however, mean he took well to being dragged out of bed at ungodly hours (especially after a harrowing interview with the Dark Lord) to speak with a grim-faced Headmaster.<p>

"Yes, Albus?" he gritted in reluctant greeting, a headache forming between his eyes.

"Severus," the ancient Headmaster began, "an incident of dire urgency has come to my attention – we must speak to Harry immediately." The Potions Master stared at him.

"What," he asked quietly, feeling unsteady as anger rose, "has Potter done _now_?" The Headmaster's expression became all the more grim, if that was possible, and he beckoned.

They arrived at No. 4 Privet Drive to a cacophony. The wards were _screaming_, literally voicing a sound Severus normally only heard from people being subjected to the Cruciatus. The entire neighborhood was, strangely, unresponsive, and a chill ran down his spine as he followed Albus to the house. The door was slightly ajar – all the worse.

"What-" he stopped mid-inquiry, startled to see that the Headmaster had drawn his wand.

"Albus, what is going on?" The man's eyes spoke of terrible fear, something that he found himself doubted would have presented itself if this was a Death Eater attack – an attack that couldn't have _happened_.

"I do not know, Severus. Stay close." The younger man swallowed and nodded, following him further into the house. The sound of harsh breathing and blubbering met their ears; situated in the kitchen was Mrs. Dursley and her son, both staring to the door with twin expressions of numb terror. On the floor, Mr. Dursley lay, above which Harry Potter sat, arms folded over his chest, head tilted to the right as he stared down at him. Green eyes lifted, and he raised one dark eyebrow.

"Good morning." The fat Muggle's breathing was laboured; blood pooled beneath him and soaked his shirt's side, and an ugly bruise was swelling his left eye shut. Severus's eyes strayed back to Harry's aunt and cousin, where he also saw, laying docilely on the table, Harry's wand. Albus's face had gone almost white.

"Harry – what has happened?" He sounded almost genial; if Severus hadn't been there with him, he could have believed that he wasn't facing a tableau that hinted at something far more gruesome lurking under the surface. He looked to the Headmaster again; his expression was drawn, and a stiff frown resided on face. The teen slowly rose and stepped over the bloodied Muggle gingerly.

"..." The lack of response caused the hair on the back of Severus's neck to stand on end as his grip tightened on his wand. A shriek brought his attention upstairs – the boy's bird. Why that made him all the more apprehensive, he couldn't be sure. Albus tried again.

"Harry-"

"Yes, Headmaster? You inquired what happened and my lack of an answer displeased you. You needn't reiterate your question – you could, however, be more specific." Hogwart's Headmaster raised an eyebrow at that.

"Whatever do you mean, Harry?" The teen picked up his wand, rotating it slowly.

"You asked 'What has happened?'. What you meant was, What have you done here, to your family, or perhaps, What has happened to your family to result in this? Asking what has happened could incite a variety of answers – the sun rose, I awoke, I drew breath, you crossed the threshold." He turned to face them, wand pointed at the ground.

"So I repeat – be more specific." Severus snapped, "Don't be insolent, Potter! You knew what the Headmaster was asking and as such could have answered!" Green eyes locked with his, and he felt that chill in his spine repeat its earlier actions, skittering down each vertebrae. The saying about someone walking on your grave flitted through his mind as those eyes returned slowly to Albus.

"Ask." The older wizard cleared his throat and complied, "What happened to your family to result in their fear and in particular your uncle's wounds?"

"I tried to kill him." A particularly pathetic whimper left his cousin at the teenage wizard's bland response. Albus stared at the Gryffindor, at a loss for words. Severus, on the other hand, was similarly dumbstruck but more inclined to speech.

"_What_?" Harry rolled his eyes.

"Specifics, Professor? What asks so many things, most of which are abstract." The urge to strangle the brat rose swiftly, only to be hideously terminated by a snapping sound. Both Albus and Severus inhaled sharply in disbelief; Harry dropped the halves of his wand and strode back over to Vernon, dropping into a crouch. He curled one hand into the man's sparse hair and wrenched his head to face him.

"Do not ever again attempt to hit me. I will kill you – but first I will kill your disgusting swine of a son in front of you. In honor of my mother's memory, I will not kill your wife; consider yourself lucky, Muggle filth." He dropped his head and strode upstairs, ignoring the terrified whimpers of the rest of his family and the silent tears streaming down Petunia's face.

"I will be ready to leave in five minutes."

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><p>Exactly five minutes later, he reappeared with his things and strode out onto the porch without a word, waiting with odd patience for them. Severus finished healing Vernon and joined him, leaving Dumbledore to speak with the Muggles. He looked down at the teen, feeling his stomach roil viciously. Without fail, the boy seemed to relish in leaving them horribly off-guard. He cleared his throat and spoke up, proud that his voice didn't even waver as he asked, "What exactly do you plan to do without a wand, Potter?" The icy response of, "As if you care, Professor," left him further dumbstruck. Albus descended the steps a few moments later.<p>

"Severus, if you would – I have another matter I must see to. Take Mr. Potter back to Hogwarts." The Potions Master grimaced, then reached for the boy's arm, side-Apparating them to the outskirts of the Hogwarts grounds – a little ways into the Forest. He set a brisk pace, but not only did Harry keep up, he seemed entirely at ease amongst the enormous trees and their hidden occupants. The silence weighed heavily – the birds, who had been singing rapturously of whatever it was birds sang of, had gone silent with their arrival. Discomfort rippled through him, but he kept his eyes locked forward, going so far as to ignore the teen, when a small hand caught his wrist, startling him. He snatched his hand away, turning to the silent teen. One dark eyebrow rose, and he walked over to a low growing bush, crouching in front of it. A few seconds later, he'd carefully pulled a few of its blossoms from the pale branches and, cradling them gingerly, rejoined him, trunk levitating placidly at his side as he flipped it open and placed the flowers in a small pouch. The trunk was flipped closed and the pouch offered to Severus, who took it reluctantly, puzzled. Still silent, the teen continued towards Hogwarts. The Potions Master stared at the pouch, then continued after him, slowly opening it and examining its contents. He felt his eyes widen fractionally at the blossoms; pale blue petals darkened to purple near their bases, around a silvery center – moonbow, or Orion's Kiss. The flowers were rare, even here in the Forest – they were a favorite of the unicorns, generally used in universal antidotes, incredibly rare potions that were also incredibly difficult to make. Most people scoffed at the idea of a universal antidote, but they _did _exist – they were technically bases for the true antidotes, but alone they could lessen the effects of most poisons (including rendering normally fatal ones merely damaging) and could cure almost every 'lesser' one.

_Potter couldn't have known that though – could he have?_

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><p>Albus came upon the dingy hut soon after leaving Severus and Harry; the scent of decay was overpowering, and here and there he saw the remains of the inhabitant's last meals.<p>

"Ambrose?" Shuffling, heavy breathing, and he came into view, straightening suddenly, thin chest heaving.

"Good morning Albus." The clipped tones sounded very much like Harry's had earlier...He cleared his throat, pushing the thought away – without proof, he could not make wild assumptions.

"Alas, this morning has not been a pleasant one, Ambrose. May I intrude upon you for information?" The thin, haggard man's deep set eyes showed no discernible emotion.

"Information pertaining to what, Albus? I require specifics." He fought the urge to flinch at the word.

"Ah...one of my students has had a strange transformation of personality." Those dark eyes suddenly sparkled, and the man hacked a laugh.

"Harry Potter has finally awakened, and the great Albus Dumbledore is at a loss for action!" The laugh seemed to ricochet harshly off the wooden fence surrounding the abandoned graveyard, echoing furtively. The Headmaster swallowed and took a deep breath.

"Indeed, Ambrose – however, I must impress upon you the difficulties he will face this year. I had thought you might assist him." Wet brown eyes almost bulged as he laughed all the harder, his chest heaving desperately with the uproarious sound. He wiped a humorous tear away, chortling.

"We shall see, Albus – we shall see!"

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><p>Severus found himself saddled with the once-sullen teen as he brewed potions for Poppy. Frustration rolled off him in waves. He was a man of absolutes and resolutions – upon meeting Harry Potter, he had come to the conclusion that the boy flouted the rules, was suspicious, stubborn, and idiotic. Granted, he knew that his reactions to the boy were tainted, but this haunting silence that seemed to cling to the teen shattered his perceptions. He hated having his preconceived understanding of the world shattered. A short through his wards warned him of someone's impending arrival via Floo; it would probably be one of the Malfoys, or possible Albus if something had happened. Harry had seemed to perk up at the same moment the short ran through; Severus assumed it was a coincidence. He entered his office and was met by a thoroughly displeased Draco Malfoy.<p>

"Good morning, Draco." He received a curt response, and the teen stalked past him into the lab; Severus assumed it was the usual bout of teenage angst (which was considerable in Draco's case) when he belatedly remembered the room's other occupant.

"_Potter_." The brunette turned slowly, stretching a little.

"Morning, Malfoy." No venom – mere...thereness. Disturbed, the Potions Master reentered to see his godson recoil from the Gryffindor, pupils dilated, nostrils flaring.

"What the bloody _hell_, Potter? Have you been eating corpses?" The other teen yawned, turning his eyes back to the wall he'd been gazing at intently.

"Potter!" He was again ignored, and his frustration immediately boiled over. Severus hadn't expected his fuse to be short; Draco's spell hit the other boy square in the back, but instead of having its normal effect, it merely sank into him, flaring dully before disappearing beneath his skin. The two Slytherins gaped as the brunette stretched again, turning to face them.

"That was not prudent, Malfoy – pray, contain your temper, or express it in scathing verbal abuse." Severus felt his stomach twist, and noted his godson's slightly green features – he wasn't the only one who felt like he was about to vomit. The door to the room opened quietly, and Remus entered, carrying another box of ingredients Severus vaguely remembered him promising. He had set them on the table and turned to the Gryffindor, but instead of their usual affectionate greeting, the only thing that passed between them was hard silence. Harry broke it first, reaching across the table and freeing a small jar of wolfsbane.

"Professor." The werewolf's eyes expressed his bewilderment; the wolf was obviously incredibly discontented with the teen's presence, clashing furiously with the man's wish to express some sort of affection for him. Eventually he offered them all a nod and left, looking incredibly lost as he walked out. The Gryffindor watched him go, then picked up the box.

"I will put these in the storeroom, and categorize that while I am there. I will be back in..." He paused, mulling over it, then finished, "Forty five minutes." He disappeared into the classroom with that. Draco turned slowly to his godson, bewilderment clear in his eyes.

"Severus – what is wrong with Potter?" Severus couldn't help but wonder the same.

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><p>Albus returned with Ambrose, shooing him through the Floo and summoning Minerva and Severus afterward, discontent and discomfort rising. Both professors arrived in minutes of one another, eying the newcomer in confusion.<p>

"You needed to speak with us, Albus?" The old wizard heaved a sigh and sank into his chair, gesturing for them to do the same. The small, skeletal man settled into a corner, knees drawn up to his sharply defined, bony chest. The Headmaster cleared his throat a little.

"This is Ambrose Skelt; he is a former student of Hogwarts himself." Minerva stared at him, obviously trying to place him, when the man hacked another wet, sickly laugh.

"I am from a time before all of you, Professor – a student with the great Dumbledore himself." The hacking laugh rattled to an abrupt halt, leaving only his heavy breathing. Both professors stared at Albus, who nodded.

"He was a Ravenclaw; however, more importantly, he is the same as Mr. Potter," stated the old man, folding his hands before him. Severus raised an eyebrow, skepticism radiating off of him. Minerva looked confused.

"I – am sorry? He is the same as Mr. Potter in what way?" she inquired, puzzlement lifting the octave of her Scottish brogue. Severus looked to Albus for guidance, still perturbed by the boy's earlier confession.

"_I tried to kill him." _

"We...were summoned early this morning by a disturbance at the Dursley domicile; we arrived to find Mr. Dursley rather badly off, and his family terrified – save for Mr. Potter, who was quite calm. Upon questioning him as to the matter, he admitted to trying to kill his uncle. He was quite venomous towards him, but more alarming than his response to the man was his actions – besides the harm he, according to himself and the Dursleys, committed to the man, he also snapped his wand." Minerva's gasp of disbelief rang loudly around the office. Albus's grim expression did not waver.

"What – whatever possessed him-" Ambrose cut her off sharply, his rasping voice harsher with vexation, "The boy was not possessed by anything but his blood, Professor. A man condemned needs no wand, and a man dead certainly does not." The Head of Gryffindor House looked very much baffled, and seemed to sway a little. Albus cleared his throat.

"What Ambrose is trying to say-"

"Is saying without your interference, Albus."

"-Is that Mr. Potter, like him, is what the Romans would have referred to as 'condemned half-dead', translated loosely. They are ranked among the undead, like vampires and phantoms, but are in a league all their own, able to reproduce with the living and even pass their genetic code through several generations of the living, as seems to be the case with Mr. Potter. Another term often applied to them is soul vultures. Their purpose is to punish those who break certain laws-"

"Specifically, destruction of the balance between Light and Dark and the slaughter of creatures such as unicorns," cut in Ambrose, dark eyes gleaming maniacally. "We are not generally liked – indeed, we are the pariah of all societies, for our powers and our...habits." Severus felt his stomach clench painfully.

"Albus...are you telling us that Potter...is Craven?"

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><p>Draco finished yet another potion, bottled it, and stared at his empty workspace. Severus was still in the meeting with the old fool, leaving him with nothing to do but deal with the vacant Gryffindork.<p>

_Can he look anymore..._idiotic? The brutish stare was beginning to irk him.

"Oi, Potter – daydreaming about your Mudblood friend?" A snort left the Gryffindor, startling the blonde.

"Please, Malfoy – tell me how you _really_ feel. And no, I'm not in the least concerned with the Muggleborn witch." Draco felt his hackles rise – since when had Granger become 'the Muggleborn witch'?

"Have a lover's spat?"

"You are working on a tangent, I see; I will humour you. No, we did not – I simply have ceased to care. She, along with Weasley, will move on. They always do." He drawled the last part with more venom than Draco could believe was possible – what the hell had happened? He walked around the desk to stare at the Gryffindor.

"What in all seven hells is wrong with you?" Much to his relief, irritation sparked in the wizard's eyes. The brunette leaned forward, and Draco fought the urge to gag at the strange stench coming off him.

"Malfoy," he murmured, green eyes narrowed. The Slytherin raised one eyebrow, smirking.

"Yes, Potter?" He barely swallowed a yelp as the Gryffindor shot across the table, hand curling around his throat as he pinned him to the wall, mouth level with his ear.

"Leave. Off."

"Potter!" He eased away from the stunned blonde, turning fluidly to face the shocked professors and the ragged man beside them. He raised an eyebrow at the man, who grinned.

"No, not yet fully awakened, but close – don't worry blondie, his old personality will be back soon; in thirty six hours and seventeen minutes, actually." He crossed the room and folded his arms across his chest, strangely white teeth flashing as he grinned at the teen.

"Well – unless he is friends with Muggleborns and blood traitors, as you tell me, in which case it will not be recovered entirely." He laughed rawly, the sound like nails down a chalkboard, or perhaps bone through a meat grinder.

"What a beautiful day." He smirked at Harry, whose expression remained stoic.

"Let's see where you belong, then." He slipped a heavy ring off his middle right finger and tossed it to the teen, who caught it with the same ease he normally did the Snitch. The ring blazed silver, tinged faintly with a very pale blue and brilliant green. The man's guffaw sounded even more harshly.

"Oh, sweet Chronos – bound ones, you couldn't have planned it better."

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><p>AN: ...Happy day? XD Review, fantastical ones. I (per usual) haven't a clue where this is going...yet. XD


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N-**

Holy mother of gods. Which is to say, in my case, Gaia. Now. OH. MY. GODS. This is the most severe AU I've done yet (which is funny, actually).

Further warning: I've been listening to Lady Gaga's Judas (-cue fangirling-) and Muse's Uprising (-brain shatters-). Throw in some Limp Bizkit and you'll understand where this fic is coming from – maybe.

I tried that whole first names always thing; it's not working, so if you see Potter, there's a good chance it's a Slytherin, Draco (redundant), Sev, or Voldie dearest. I DO have to refer to the Weasleys by name though...gods, so many. Okay, need to stop this now. -uhg-

Note: This fic is NOT related to DG, save for the fact that they are contrasting creature!fics.

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><p>They had barely gotten the ring away from Harry when his eyes rolled up in his head and he loosed the most unearthly sound ever – not quite a scream, but somehow akin to the sound of singing. Ambrose's humour fled instantly and he shot forward, catching the spasming teen and bracing him. Draco gaped as blue lights flared under the Gryffindor's skin and his eyes snapped open, blacker than jet. Hands curled into a claw-like formation, and he began to hyperventilate and fight furiously against the thin man pinning him to the table.<p>

"Damn it, one of you help me!" Albus stopped Minerva from pulling her wand, gesturing for Severus to help Ambrose hold the boy down. The moment the Potions Master reluctantly pinned the boy's wrists, he stopped fighting, simply staring blindly at the ceiling, breathing hard. Draco inched around them, looking to the Headmaster expectantly.

"Severus, carry him to Poppy – don't bother trying to use your wand, magic no longer affects Mr. Potter properly. Mr. Malfoy, go to my office and bring Fawkes to the Hospital Wing. Minerva, do summon the others." Draco looked over his shoulder at Severus, who nodded towards the door, and did as told, unnerved. He'd seen the Gryffindor have a fit before, but this...was not the same. He stumbled up to Albus's office and mumbled the password, only to have Fawkes fly down to him.

:Move with haste, boy – the Craven child is transforming more quickly than his senior believed.: The shocks to his system just kept coming – since when did the bloody bird _talk_?

:I can hear you.: He swallowed and broke into a run, startling the phoenix into squawking like a chicken. He sprinted into the Hospital Wing, sliding a few feet and tripping, almost throwing the graceful bird to the Headmaster. From the bed he was strapped to, Harry was screaming some of the strangest garble he'd ever heard. The lights were encircling his wrists and writhing at his throat, literally pushing up against the skin. Ambrose looked even more sickly with concern.

"This is unprecedented, Albus – he is transforming too fast." Severus looked up, frustration radiating off him in waves. Draco noticed almost immediately that the Gryffindor's nails were digging into the man's hand, which he was clutching as if he was afraid to let go.

"Albus, what is wrong with him?" asked the man, wincing as the teen screamed again, straining against the restraints. Poppy looked at a loss for what to do, as did they all, when the phoenix screeched, lighting on the boy's chest. He dropped his head and deliberately sank the tip of his beak into the boy's wrist. Harry screamed one last time and went silent, eyes fluttering closed. The phoenix repeated the action to his other wrist and then hopped away. The lights burst free of him, encircling his wrist in a free-floating bracelet. The wounds on his wrists sealed, and beneath his skin the other lights mimicked the pattern of those above them; brilliant blue symbols encircled the bony wrist, each one spinning slowly. The silence weighed heavily as they stared at the symbols. Remus lifted one of his wrists and turned it slowly.

"What...are these?" he inquired after a moment, looking over his shoulder at Ambrose. The man's fingers seemed to be twitching, and Draco realized belatedly that he was mimicking tapping something in a metronome steady beat.

"They are a sign – a warning. He has a living relative who is Craven, and will stop at nothing to remove the heir to his power. Craven were not meant to have families in the sense that humans do; a father will kill his heir for that child's power, and without a thought to it. This boy...is in greater danger than he imagined." He nodded to the shimmering 'bracelets' and their reflections under his skin.

"They are also a protection against this other Craven. I think he is indeed bound to a Dark family as I once was, but he is also faced with a choice. Craven with his power – the ability to manipulate time – are far more dangerous than someone like me, only able to see into the past or future at will, able to measure time perfectly, and ever bound to our original duty. _He _is given the choice of binding himself to the family he serves and thus to their chosen fate." He exhaled noisily, bony chest heaving more furiously than before, yet he wasn't breathing heavily at all. The Headmaster turned suddenly to Draco, startling the blonde into stepping back. He immediately straightened and faced him, fighting the urge to grit his teeth.

"Mr. Malfoy, I assure you that now is the time to tell us where your loyalties lie – this is a matter of utmost importance and secrecy." All Gryffindors, even the old ones, were this blunt, weren't they? He stared at the old man, wondering exactly how one told the Headmaster of Hogwarts, leader of the 'secret' Order of the Phoenix (because it wasn't so obvious that it almost bled out of the pathetic Weasleys' _pores_,) that you were seriously considering joining the Dark Lord, if only to get your father to _shut up_ about it. Before he could answer, Severus spoke up, voice insistent.

"Draco will not speak of this to anyone; he understands what is at risk." He nodded, wondering what Severus was up to – besides just saving him from himself, per usual. The ancient man raised a pale eyebrow, and said, "Swear it, Mr. Malfoy – this is not something to be taken lightly." _Swear _it – he couldn't mean... He stared at him, and realized the man was serious. He wanted him to take an _oath_.

He was seriously fucked if his father heard about this. He took a deep breath and pulled out his wand, placing it on the table. Fawkes snapped his wings out once, raining false sparks on the wood. Dumbledore also placed his wand on the table, tips almost touching, before beckoning to Poppy, who produced a slim athame and pressed it into his hand. He gently, but swiftly, pulled it across his right palm, and again across Draco's left.

"Oath spoken with magic; oath bound by blood." Draco hissed as the cut sealed and his wand flew back into his hand with a small flash of gold light. The ancient Headmaster nodded once, and turned back to the unconscious Gryffindor, a silent dismissal. He felt his ire flare at that, but tamped it down and left the wing silently, returning to Severus's office. This would cease to be important when the school year finally started.

* * *

><p>Severus looked at the clock Poppy had left with him; half past midnight. The boy hadn't awoken, but the two times he'd tried to move away, he'd begun to thrash and scream. The brilliant symbols would glow red and spin rapidly, letting off surprising waves of heat and even screeching the second time. He dragged his fingers through his hair, wishing he could pull away for just a moment, but Poppy refused to put any of her patients through unnecessary pain – and as she had quipped, "The school year has yet to start, Severus; you can stand to lose a few hours."<p>

Perhaps he could, but he would rather not have to, especially not to _Potter_. The brat took up an obscene portion of his life as is, but now he had to lose sleep over him too?

"Professor, you are free to go." He looked up, not expecting the gaunt little jester to appear. He made Lupin look like the image of sophistication. Ambrose sat in the chair opposite Severus and propped up his feet on Potter's bed, hands clasped behind his head.

"Off you go, old man – can't have a teacher losing sleep over a Craven, now can we, 'specially so early in the year. Shoo, shoo. He won't wake." The Potions Master stared at the leering skull with its taut mask of old leather skeptically, before slowly pulling his hand from Potter's.

Nothing. Relief crashed through him, and he rose stiffly, nodding to Ambrose, who merely grinned wider. He left the Hospital Wing hastily, not expecting (stupidly, he supposed) to run into anyone and be drawn into something time consuming – say, an Order meeting. But there was Lupin, looking apologetic.

"Ambrose didn't mention the Order meeting, did he?"

Someone needed to just kill him now. He stared at the werewolf, resisting the urge to strangle him, and took a deep breath.

"Fine. Just...fine."

* * *

><p>Albus's office was in an uproar; the gaggle of Weasleys took up more space than they probably had to, having brought their children as well as Granger. Albus gestured to a seat near his desk, which he took reluctantly. He was almost too tired to be startled when Granger and the younger Weasleys accosted him with questions about Potter. He stared at them dully even as Lupin shooed them off, but whatever peace he'd been looking for was broken when Draco popped his head in and said, almost as if it was of no matter, "Potter's seizing again," and walked out. He listened to the gingers screech, then rose and walked back out, tiredly leading the procession of terrified Order members to the Hospital Wing, in time to see Poppy run out, eyes wide. He felt a little energy stir at the stunned expression.<p>

"What-" He stopped in his tracks, wondering if his eyes were betraying him, then allowed himself a glance at the Order members.

If that was anything to go on, no.

Potter was out of the restraints – they were completely gone save for some charred pieces of leather – but more importantly, he seemed to be trying to suffocate Draco...oh wait, he was kissing him. Wait, _kissing _him? Severus blinked once, then again, and when the image didn't dissipate, he realized he was not hallucinating from lack of sleep. Potter had Draco locked in a half tender, half controlling embrace, pinned to the wall, kissing him passionately. As if Fate needed to break the shocked paralysis, Ambrose (who had been conspicuously absent in those stunned seconds earlier) materialized and pried the Gryffindor off Draco, who stumbled back in a daze. Potter, not taking kindly to being interrupted, (and he was so disturbed by that thought) calmly slammed the other man back with an elbow to the face, and then snapped his neck with a wet crack. The other Craven fell, and the horrified silence fell with him. The brunette stretched and yawned, curling up in ball, eyes locked on the gathered Order members. Draco, finally snapping out of the daze (and a reasonable one at that – it wasn't like Potter was doing that regularly), retreated to the far end of the room, unable to think of the proper response to that action, but their attention was soon monopolized by the 'dead' Craven suddenly snapping his head back into its proper position, rolling his neck until his vertebrae realigned with one hideous click after another.

"Bloody newborn. Stop mauling the blonde and apologize." Potter yawned again and closed his eyes, clicking his tongue in a constant rhythm. Ambrose groaned and shooed them out, calling over his shoulder to Draco, "Unless you want him to do that again, I'd advise coming with us."

It wasn't until they'd gotten back to Albus's office that Severus realized Draco hadn't come along.

* * *

><p>Draco stared at the brunette, who was still clicking away, eyes closed.<p>

"What the _hell_, Potter?" he whispered, the inquiry almost rhetorical. The clicking didn't stop – but he _did _answer. Draco supposed he shouldn't be surprised, it was the bloody Boy-Who-Lived.

"Be specific, Malfoy – not that that question really makes sense anyway, if you think about it." The blonde slowly advanced, watching the brunette sit up, arching his back a little before settling down, eyes – again black – locked on him. He stopped at the edge of the bed, ignoring the niggling little voice in the back of his head that wanted to know if he wasn't trying to get kissed again.

"What was that just now?" Potter giggled – _giggled_, the little pouf – and leaned forward, eyes glittering.

"Don't you mean," he murmured, almost hissing the words into his ear, "why did I kiss you?" Draco swallowed and nodded. Cool fingers curled around his jaw, and he found himself again pinned as the Gryffindor kissed him again, breaking away between small kisses to answer.

"I suppose I did it," Kiss. "Because," Kiss. "_I wanted to_." He hissed the last part, and Draco almost swallowed his tongue when the brunette bit his throat, worrying the skin between his teeth hard enough to break the skin ever so slightly – not enough to bleed, but enough for it to split superficially. He jerked away, one hand flying to his mouth, the other to his throat. The brunette had the gall to look _smug, _licking his lips and rising from the bed, walking out of the wing. Draco finally remembered that something was seriously wrong with him (besides the fact that he was obviously raving _mad_) and needed to be supervised at all times, and followed him, cursing fate and whomever else thought making Potter lose his mind was a good idea.

They ran into the youngest Weasleys (and obvious Weasley-to-be) almost immediately; Ron and Hermione both froze, stepped forward as if to run to Harry, then faltered at his dry stare.

"H-Harry, mate, are you alright?" He continued to stare at them, arms folded over his chest, blatantly showing off the azure 'bracelets'. Draco came up behind him, barely sparing time to sneer at the gingers before he punched the Gryffindor in the shoulder.

"Potter, you're an invalid, remember? Severus would have my head if I let you wander." Ron bristled, and Draco sighed, preparing for another unreasonable Weasley rant.

"What the hell are you doing, Malfoy? Ferrety git, leave him alone!" The Weaslette chose that moment to speak up as well, crying, "Harry! He didn't hex you into kissing him, did he? You _would_, you vile fairy!" Vile fairy. Oh, lords of their idiocy... Hermione, bless her over-read soul, was absorbed by the shimmering symbols circling Harry's wrists.

"Harry...what's going on?" she asked furtively, eyes flicking between him and Draco, and as if her voice had snapped him out of some meditation, light flickered in his eyes and he sneered. Draco wasn't sure who choked harder, him or Ron.

* * *

><p>Hermione stammered, not expecting that reaction nor the cold light in his eyes – suspicion flared as she looked at Malfoy, but she tried to ignore him, again beseeching Harry.<p>

"Harry, I-"

"Granger, what makes you think you need to know?" She froze, heart pounding painfully. Why would he refer to her by her last name – like an acquaintance, or an...enemy... She heard Ron and Ginny yelling more accusations at Malfoy, who was replying with his normal, cold eloquence, but she could barely hear above the insidious ticking.

"H-Harry – Malfoy hasn't-"

"I assure you, Draco has been nothing but genial, and at least _he _doesn't feel the need to meddle like certain unimaginative Mudbloods and idiotic blood traitors!" She felt horror and hurt flood her mind, but couldn't figure out how to respond – could only stare at him, stunned by the hateful words. Even Malfoy looked stunned. Harry pushed past her, striding down the hall with the intent of ignoring them completely, Malfoy following closely. Ron, however, reacted finally in violence, hurling a hex at his now former best friend's back.

"Ron, _don't_!" The hex hit him dead on, but instead of its intended affect, it merely flashed and sank into him. He stopped and turned slowly, eyes turning black. Malfoy rested a hand on his arm, muttering something into his ear. Harry merely sneered and pulled his arm away, whipping around and stalking off. Malfoy rolled his eyes and followed, leaving them to stare after them in a mixture of disbelief and horror. Ginny spoke first.

"He called you – _that_. Malfoy's obviously done something him!" Ron, on the other hand, was staring at Hermione, as if asking a question, a questioning expression she'd seen often. It was the same look he'd given her after Harry had revealed (without meaning to) that he was a Parselmouth; the same look he'd given her when Remus had transformed, the _same look _every time something unexpected happened and something seemingly blatant appeared to be the cause. She swallowed, wiping a few errant tears away.

"We'll – we'll figure something out, Ginny. Let's just get back to Professor Dumbledore's office." Ginny nodded tightly and walked ahead of them, leaving Ron to finally ask, "What was around his wrist?" She shook her head, wracking her brain and finding nothing.

"I'll have to look in the library...but Ron, I don't think this has anything to Malfoy. Did you see his expression?"

"...Stupid as ever?" She rolled her eyes.

"He wasn't expecting him to say...that...either – he wasn't expecting him to react that way at all."

"Why didn't my hex work?" Hermione bit her lip, and shook her head again.

"I don't know, Ron – but I'm going to find out."

* * *

><p>"Filthy stain on society..." Draco wondered if his dreams had come true and he hadn't even realized it; Harry Potter was renouncing his pathetic friends and turning to him – <em>him. <em>

"Calm down, Potter – I'm sure she'll leave you alone now." The Gryffindor lounged on the couch across from him, lazily shredding a piece of parchment.

"That doesn't change the fact that she's here, does it?" Draco raised a pale eyebrow at that and nodded to him, unable to resist the urge.

"Your mother-"

"Doesn't matter now, she's dead isn't she?" The Slytherin felt his eyes widen as the Gryffindor tossed the shreds into the fireplace, rising to pace.

"I owe her my life, and for that I am eternally grateful – and I _will _avenge her – but it doesn't make Muggleborns in Hogwarts _right. _The Founders were purebloods, and the greatest witches and wizards to come from Hogwarts were as well – they certainly survived where others did not." He brushed hair out of his eyes again, those having returned to their normal green hue.

"I am not saying they need to be exterminated, but they need their own place; the Muggle and Wizarding Worlds were not meant to coexist – we are hidden for a _reason_." He thought of his own 'family' and snarled a little.

"Perhaps she is bright but she lacks imagination; she will never surpass _bright_."

"Mr. Potter – what are you doing here?" Both students turned to see Severus in the doorway, staring at him with a mixture of exhaustion and resignation.

"And what, exactly, did you say to incite the Weasley children's wrath?" Draco cleared his throat.

"Skelt asked that I make sure he didn't hurt himself anymore than usual, and he wanted to leave the Hospital Wing, so I brought him here." He looked to Potter, and paused when he saw him shaking his head ever so slightly, eyes still locked on the flames.

"...And the Weasleys?" asked the Potions Master again, not overlooking Potter's slight head movement. As if in response to the look he could not see, he turned to face him, jaw tight.

"They took offense to me stating the truth. They are lucky – I could have expanded into the daughter's shameful behaviour where I am concerned, their inability to overcome an exceeding shabbiness, and their mother's equally shameful coddling." He looked visibly disgusted.

"I overstepped my right to speech and named Granger in a way that was hypocritical and disrespectful to my own heritage, but I will not hasten to apologize." Draco winced at the overstated explanation, eyes turning to an alarmingly pale Severus.

* * *

><p>He'd downed a pick-me-up, knowing the night would not hasten to end his discomfort, and as it dragged on he found the pick-me-up's added awareness more of a curse than a blessing. He couldn't meet the boy's eyes before, but now it was worse; Lily's eyes disappeared to some sort of demonic shadow, and icy, clipped tones replaced the brashness he expected. But to insult Granger – to insult her so thoroughly – was utterly unexpected and even sickening. He wanted to scold, at the very least, but those eyes, still dark with inexplicable anger, stayed locked on his, and dispelled words before he even said them. The Gryffindor finally looked away, sitting again and staring into the fire, dismissing them without voicing so. Draco seemed to bristle at that, but nevertheless followed Severus out.<p>

"He called her a Mudblood – a filthy Mudblood, and with more venom than I think even Father could have, though he expanded on it only after we left." Severus shuddered a little, replying harshly, "It's an inherent trait – Muggles once bound Craven in stone in hopes of using their protective abilities to oversee treasures and the like; it is further exacerbated by their connection to old pureblood families. They once oversaw the lines and ensured their purity, though why, they would never say and have never since explained." He looked over his shoulder and then back to Draco.

"He will stay here tonight; we will deal with this better tomorrow."

* * *

><p>The few days until the school year officially started passed rapidly, rife with fits from Harry that passed faster and faster, until he would shudder once, freeze, and then be unaffected for the rest of the day. Severus did not hear from the Dark Lord, for which he was thankful, but he unfortunately did hear from the Weasleys – Molly refused to believe Harry could be so hateful to Hermione now, and expected Severus to be able to fix it; <em>why <em>she was so deluded, he didn't bother pondering. The brat had all but switched Houses; his things were in Draco's rooms, he was always with Draco (and if there was a budding friendship there, he couldn't see it; more often than not they were arguing, throwing barbed comments back and forth until the Gryffindor got bored and left,), and for the life of him he couldn't approach the Weasleys without insulting them. He'd once even broached the Chamber incident, sending Molly and Ginny into tears and earning him several hexes from the brothers, none of which offered any effect.

The Sorting was a relief; though he was expected to clap and show that he was paying attention, little more than that was needed. He could finally relax, letting his mind wander some. However, Fate was feeling cruel, per usual, and incited a moment of numbness in the school when the Hat suddenly rasped, "Mr. Potter, attend me." All eyes turned to the lone Gryffindor leaning against the wall behind the Slytherin table, arms folded across his chest as he watched them. One thin eyebrow rose and he straightened, doing as requested without a word. Ambrose shot the Headmaster a look, but he too seemed dumbstruck. The Hat spoke again, voice ringing in the high ceilings.

"Ye've received your inheritance, at terrible cost – a cost that will continue to mount. Do you now see the merits of my original choice?" The Gryffindor seemed to ponder this, gazing down at the worn hat, before replying, "I certainly understand now that people change, and sometimes drastically; Gryffindor was what I required for five years, but I now am willing to join my proper house." The Hat chuckled, and Severus choked when he saw the badge on Potter's robes shimmer and morph in Slytherin's crest.

"Then join the House of Salazar, Harry Potter."

* * *

><p>The school was in an uproar, and understandably; though perhaps the cries of, "Harry Potter's gone Dark!" were not entirely accurate (for their meaning was incorrect, though Harry Potter was entirely Dark), the very fact that Harry Potter, Gryffindor's Golden Boy and Saviour of Wizarding World had be reSorted (unheard of in itself) and placed in Slytherin was shock enough. He had changed too, physically.<p>

He was naturally thin, and years of malnourishment had done much to assist that; however, with his inheritance he'd become little more than muscle and bone it seemed. While he was not gaunt and terrifying as his new mentor, Skelt, was, he was certainly unnerving. His moods were slightly measurable; if his eyes were green, you were moderately safe. If they were black, you fled.

In an almost invigorating twist for the professors, his grades suddenly shifted for the better; he payed attention almost religiously in History of Magic, surpassed Hermione with ease in Charms, and further demolished everyone in Defense, despite the lack of a proper wand. However, word got out almost immediately to parents of his transformation, and they screamed foul. His schedule was modified, then personalized; all his classes (with the exceptions of Divination, History of Magic, and Herbology) were given to Skelt, who modified them to fit Craven magical ability. He became almost neurotic about things like cleanliness and punctuality; Slytherin House had never had such a volatile 'den mother' before, and were cowed to a new extent. His apparent attachment to Draco boosted his control of his House to levels he would never have believed; even Nott, who seemed intent on challenging him at every turn, barely spoke a word of censure in his presence.

However, Hogwarts eventually settled in; Samhain came and went with no unusual occurrence, though Harry found that his power tripled and his ability to touch ghosts came with a new addition; their memories. This passed with Samhain, a relief to him despite his fascination with it. It seemed as if, despite his status as a feared pariah among all the Houses and the changes constantly wracking his body, that they'd finally moved on to another year at Hogwarts.

It was not to stay in such peaceful stasis for long.

* * *

><p>Dinner was the time of day when the scores were drawn; the gossip poured into Slytherin, and the lines illustrated with no small fascination to them. This year, though, Voldemort's reign of terror offered another distraction, one complicated by Harry's arrival in Slytherin. It was only a matter of time before he found himself without allies and against the world, and he was perfectly fine with that.<p>

He perched on the edge of his chair to the left of Draco's position near the head of the table; the few seventh years still 'outranked' him and monopolized the head of the table still, but Draco still retained his title as Prince of Slytherin, and demanded the respect that went with it. Harry let his eyes scan the Hall, hunger banished hours earlier. He didn't eat much anymore, and he rarely ate anything that wasn't meat; because of his appetites, he didn't eat with his Housemates, though he did accompany them to meals. Ambrose had warned him, of course; the Craven had received that name because of their penchant for breaking an absolute human taboo – eating the dead. It mattered not to a Craven if you'd been human or livestock, your corpse was their source of nutrition. A few Craven, often ancient, ate souls – that is, ghosts as many at Hogwarts knew them. Those cravings horrified and sickened the general populace, and as someone who had been raised among them, it proved difficult to Harry. He'd gotten over eating raw meat, but the idea of devouring human flesh or soul disturbed him.

"Potter, sit down."

"I am sitting, Parkinson, and unless you want that spoon to be the tool I use to carve your heart out, you will cease speaking and pay me no mind." Draco sighed and gave him a short look, expressing in a few silent moments his displeasure with Harry's reply and censure in response to it. Harry replied with a smirk and the childish response of sticking his tongue out. Blaise flicked him and pushed him further into his chair, ignoring his sulk; of all the Slytherins, only Blaise seemed to be at ease with his unholiness.

There was an uncharacteristic break in the Hall-wide chatter; in that silence, Harry felt the Warnings heat and saw them turn red; the shriek echoed through the Hall as the doors opened and a single cloaked figure entered, pausing a little on the threshold at the shriek. Harry was on his feet immediately, feeling pricking unfurl under his skin. Draco looked up at him with obvious concern; he knew what the Warnings turning red meant, and it couldn't be a coincidence that someone had entered seconds later. Dumbledore rose, intending on welcoming or questioning the newcomer, but found himself witnessing the impossible as Harry shot across the Hall and into them.

* * *

><p>He felt the backhand and almost fell into a flashback; he forced unpleasant memories aside and continued to attack the newcomer, feeling the changes Ambrose had taught him about expressing themselves. He ignored the screams as pain bloomed in his shoulders; the skin bulged and split, the sound of his shirt and robes tearing offering a strange soundtrack to the sensation. Enormous, fleshy wings unfurled, cracking wetly as he snapped them once to rid them of blood and clinging tissues. Agony continued to wrack him as his nails sank in and forced out of his fingers, becoming claws even as his bones restructured themselves into something akin to talons. His legs and ankles broke and shifted, lifting him almost a foot into the air, all his weight on the balls of widened, scaled feet tipped with similar claws, making him digitigrade.<p>

Finally his skull shattered and reformed, lengthening and distending, his teeth lengthening to the point he was certain they'd fall out at any moment. The Warnings turned gold and pressed up against the rest of his body, covering him in the screeching scarification tattoos. His nostrils flared a little as he stepped back, startled by how fast the transformation had occurred; seconds, mere seconds, and they were enough, for his attacker had finally recognized him as a threat.

* * *

><p>Draco could have vomited at the sound alone, which was soon accompanied by the stench of death, but terror chose to rise instead of bile.<p>

Where Harry stood at almost seven feet now, the other Craven was a foot taller. His Warnings were blood red, as were his eyes; like Harry, his wings were akin to those of a bat. The bone frame gleamed through thin skin, also covered in the warnings. Claws tipped the top of each wing, these of blood stained bone. The hideous image was strangely graceful, and the two Craven merely stared for a horrific second, before clashing again. The screeching alone was far from tolerable, but the amount of damage they caused seemed impossible. In a strange event only possible when death was literally tearing into itself in front of you, Draco suddenly realized how much danger they were in, but before he could take action (and how, he would never know), a third, smaller Craven hurtled into the fray, throwing both of the other Craven with strength unexpected in so small a frame. In the same short period the transformation had begun in, it seemed to end, revealing Ambrose, thoroughly bloodied and twisted.

"Both of you! Cease!" Harry was back on his feet in seconds, but found himself on the receiving end of a clawed fist. The second Craven calmly retracted them while the younger touched the mark on his jaw with disbelief, eyes widening to startling size as recognition crashed down on him. The dark haired man spat blood, wiping away what little remained with a pale hand.

"I'm sure your mother would be pleased that you grew up to be such a fighter, kid," drawled James Potter with all the emotion of a dead man.

* * *

><p>AN: -humming Judas...again- Augh. So awesome. Anyway, I am cutting down on A/Ns after this. Maybe they'll only appear at the end of chapters, if they appear at all.


	3. Chapter 3

There were no words to express utter hatred, and fewer still to express the awkward silence that hung over Dumbledore's office.

Harry was again perched, this time behind Severus, trying his hardest to kill his father with his eyes alone. Remus was looking between them helplessly, and Severus was trying to get over the daze of having the former Gryffindor defend his honor, so to speak.

The walk to the office had been immediately filled with an argument between him and James, but the moment the man had uttered the usual hateful nickname, he'd found himself with a broken jaw and a furious Harry being restrained by a startled Remus. The hissing teen had latched onto the Potions Master after that, daring his father to try it again. The elder Potter hadn't been expecting _that_, obviously, and was finally wary of the younger man, never speaking to Severus without the smallest sliver of civility. Albus watched the entire interaction with a mixture of worry and fascination, feeling something of his old scheming awaken.

"...Well, I am admittedly not well-versed in the etiquette of welcoming a man previously thought dead, James, but I am quite pleased to see you again." The Craven raised an eyebrow at that, replying softly, "Albus, if I may be blunt – you are actually quite disturbed by my return and my son's reaction to me, and furthermore wonder how I am alive while Lily is not. Your suspicions, while not unfounded, are better aired early if you require answers." The Headmaster's eyes widened, and Harry scoffed, earning a sharp look from his father. He fell silent instantly, frustrated by the Craven instincts that made him defer to the elder while offering a sort of never-ending urge for teenage rebellion. Craven families never lasted after the Craven awoke, from as early as thirteen years to as late as thirty; a child would challenge the parent to the end, often ending in violent matches that were always fatal for one or both of the Craven involved. Though he hated to admit it, he would not be able to match his father currently in combat; James had years on him, and furthermore, if his Animagus form was anything to go on, he had speed and power on his side. A stag wasn't a predator, but it could still be dangerous in the right scenario. Remus cleared his throat, the bewildered expression that had been fixed to his face since Harry's arrival so many days ago even worse than usual.

"Where have you been all these years, James?" Harry noticed his father's immediately guilty expression and felt something stir; perhaps the man wasn't a complete bastard – and then horror clenched in his stomach, and he shuddered, snapping his father's attention back to him. The man's eyes narrowed.

"Harry?" Where he would normally have demanded the man ask the entire question, he felt the pain twist in his gut again and refrained.

"F-Father...Sirius..." Remus's face drained of colour, and the Headmaster looked rather uncertain. James stared at his son's suddenly teary eyes and understood the sharp pains that had been wracking him every time his thoughts wandered to his old friend. The curse of a Craven, especially a Craven from one of the few surviving lines, was the ability to sense death – be it the death of a loved one or the death of many, they were always in pain, for death, like birth, was unforgiving.

* * *

><p>The wards screamed; the entire school could hear it, and the pain was all-consuming. Everyone felt it to some degree, but more terrifying was the effect on the school and some of its less vital inhabitants. The ghosts were flickering in and out, unable to control their motions and materialization. The walls themselves sang when touched; memories flashed through minds unused to the invasion of a thousand dead voices, and no few students fell unconscious. Perhaps they knew and perhaps they didn't, but Hermione and Ron both broke for Dumbledore's office, not expecting to almost run over Malfoy in the process.<p>

"What-"

"Shut up and follow me! I can't tell you, but I can show you." They followed him without wariness, stumbling up to the statue just as the screams fell silent, followed by a single, mournful blast wind that swept through the school. The door twisted open, and they found themselves face to face with James Potter, who offered only the iciest of expressions (thoroughly putting Lucius Malfoy to shame, and Draco wasn't afraid to admit it) before sweeping past them, revealing a stunned, red-eyed Harry, pale Remus, and furious Severus.

This did not bode well.

* * *

><p>His anguish at the loss of his best friend morphed into cold fury; he wanted to know <em>why<em>, and he knew his son knew. The sudden force of having one's mind invaded way obviously not new to him, and he silently added another black mark to Snape's name. The images flashed and whirled, accompanied by every pain, every emotion, and as soon as it had begun, it was over.

"You _stupid_ child!" The sharp tone may have been ignored in any other setting, but something in Harry had not yet transitioned to the devil-may-care attitude of his Craven alter ego, so to speak – he recoiled, eyes going impossibly wide, swimming with tears he refused to shed. The words pounded through his mind, loud in the silence there, and he wondered if the others couldn't hear it too.

_Filthy, death born whelp! Your breath brings death to everything you touch...you didn't deserve Sirius as a godfather – how could you have been so _foolish_, you disgusting brat! _It never occurred to him that James had spoken aloud, and only the sharp, normally liquid velvet tones of his Potions professor told him otherwise.

"You unbelievable bastard! The boy did nothing wrong save for _care_, something you are obviously incapable of – to the point that you abandoned your son and the woman who loved you!" Both men had risen at some point, and Harry found himself behind Severus, stunned tears streaking his face as he stared past the Potions Master at the man he'd always admired – the man he'd longed to know as his father. Remus stood between them, finally having lost the lost puppy expression for one more suited to the situation – kicked puppy. James was still screaming at him, but he'd stopped hearing it, trying to recoil absolutely and finding himself physically limited to curling into a ball and pressing himself again a wall. Albus rose and barked an order, startling all of his former students into silence while Harry struggled for something like composure. He rose slowly, scrubbing tears away as Dumbledore expressed his displeasure is dark, clipped tones, and dismissed them with a request that he speak to James alone later. The elder Potter wasted no time removing himself from the premises; the others took longer.

* * *

><p>Severus hadn't expected to respond with such visible anger to Potter, and he certainly hadn't intended on protecting the boy from his venomous blame – had he not blamed the boy himself, despite his intense lack of affection for Black?<p>

But he knew that even before he'd become Craven, the boy had been desperate for something – acceptance, love, the family the Dark Lord had callously destroyed, turning him into a reluctant celebrity from the moment he set foot in the Wizarding World. The Potions Master sighed and shook his head, turning to deal with the newest member of his House.

"Potter – Harry." Those eyes had gone blank, and somehow that was scarier than the black; it made him wonder if it wasn't an accurate depiction of Lily's eyes after the Dark Lord killed her. He swallowed hard at that thought, forcing it down and lowering himself to nearer the teen's level.

"Harry, please." Severus started at how close Lupin's voice was and realized he hadn't run after Potter – he'd stayed for the boy. The teen had sat up, but had drawn his knees up to his chest (and instantly reminded Severus of when he'd met Ambrose; he was so _thin_), curling his arms around them and staring them with glassy green eyes.

"Harry, my boy, you must stand." Albus's voice sounded above them, and a ludicrous thought about the voice of God flitted through his mind. Harry continued to stare, eyes wandering for a moment before returning to his face, locking gazes. He swallowed with difficulty and slowly reached out, disturbed by his immediate flinch. He paused, waiting for him to realize he wasn't going to hurt him (_again_, hissed the traitorous voice in his mind that still considered others), before slowly resting his hand on his shoulder. He started when the boy hiccuped, and as if the strangeness of the sound pulled him from the dazed state, his eyes cleared a little. He stared around for a moment, then rose abruptly, jerking away from Severus without really meaning to.

"I – I am fine." Far from it, and they all knew that, but he needed time. They left with a curt farewell to the solemn Headmaster, supporting Harry between them and coming face to face with three concerned students (though he imagined the Gryffindors couldn't tell Draco was worried).

"Professor! What happened-" Harry suddenly pitched forward, and everyone moved at once to stop him, when the Warnings suddenly blazed, no longer blue, red, or gold, but a hideously brilliant green. His eyes seemed to be shifting between green and black as if they weren't sure what to do, when he froze, staring straight ahead, lips moving as a rasping, hissing voice left his mouth.

"You _fools_...to think you could hide from me..._Crucio_!" Both adults almost let go of him at the hissed word, but Severus only just stopped himself at the Dark Lord's voice. Lupin readjusted his grip on the teen's arm, stuttering, "His s-scar?" The Potions Master nodded, waiting for the weird cackle to stop rolling through Harry's body. It finally did, and he felt dread sink deeper into him as the man hissed through the boy, "Torch! Find him, and _kill him_." His eyes slowly turned green again, and the Warnings settled to their normal azure shade. He dropped abruptly, trying to sit and almost yanking his support's arms from their sockets.

"'M sorry...Voldemort again..." Draco snorted, then snapped, "We never would have guessed, Potter, seeing as it's customary for you to perform the Cruciatus in the Dark Lord's voice." The Craven didn't reply, hanging limply but struggling to regain composure. Severus looked over him to Lupin, who nodded towards the dungeons. The Potions Master looked in question towards the two Gryffindors, and the werewolf shrugged. Rolling his eyes at the unhelpfulness of that gesture, he readjusted his grip on the shaking teen and began to head towards the dungeons, leaving Draco to decide whether the Gryffindors would accompany them or not – after all, _he _was the de facto leader of Slytherin, not him.

* * *

><p>Draco wasn't particularly pleased with it, but invited Weasley and Granger anyway – he knew, despite his disdain for them, that they were worried for Potter's welfare. They ended up in Severus's office, where the two adults deposited the battered teen onto a pair of chairs transfigured into a short couch, and several more chairs were summoned. The three students sat after a moment's hesitance, looking to the two adults as if expecting answers. Severus looked at Harry, who had pulled himself into a sitting position, then to Lupin, who sighed.<p>

"You have questions." No shit, werewolf.

"Was – was that-" Granger looked stunned, and finally Weasley snapped, "It was your father, right? He's supposed to be _dead_." Way to be sensitive, Weasel. Potter wrinkled his nose and nodded, jaw tight.

"I don't know how he's alive," he grumbled in reply, messing with a stray thread on his robe that he was slowly weaving in and out of the sleeve with his magic.

"It didn't exactly come up in the conversation..." Both Gryffindors shared a look, and finally Granger managed, "Did you tell him about Sirius?" Cue the awkward flinch and Severus's angry mutter that would probably have been a snarl if not for the three Gryffindors, ex or not. Draco leaned forward, fascinated by the response.

"What happened?" Potter bit his lip, eyes flicking desperately between Severus and Lupin, before a strangely stoic Lupin answered, "Harry did tell him about Sirius; their combined pain opened a rift into Darkness that tried to devour the wards and the ghosts around the school – that was the screaming you probably heard. James's reaction was...not pleasant."

"And far from justified, if I would allow myself a hypocritical moment." The two Gryffindor students gaped at the fuming Potions Master, and even Draco admitted that wasn't the comment he'd expected – yes, censure to Potter's father, but admission of guilt on his part as well? The Potions Master ignored the stares of shock, continuing on the tangent quietly, "Potter-" he sighed and amended that, "Harry was given information too late, and thus was unable to counter the Dark Lord's meddling in any effective manner – nor did I exactly assist him properly in that venture, and so I take some of his blame as he would release it." He shook his head.

"This, however, needn't be analyzed further – what you _should _be worried about is your studies." The Craven groaned in the everlasting teenage way, and flopped back on the couch.

"But why is he _here_? And who was Voldemort talking about?" Lupin looked at Severus as if repeating the question silently, and he shrugged.

"I don't know anyone called Torch – but I can likely find out, if that's what you're asking." The Gryffindors shared a concerned look, then stared at Lupin, who shook his head, which was apparently what they were looking for. Draco was fascinated but irritated – he too wanted to know why Potter was here. However, it would seem his godfather had spoken for the last time, and they were left in his office while the two adults reported to Dumbledore – again.

* * *

><p>Ron and Hermione swiftly disregarded Malfoy to mother Harry.<p>

"Are you alright, mate? I mean, he's been dead – well, was supposed to be dead – for fifteen years now, and now you learn..." He tapered off, then amended, "Reaffirm, that he's a git."

"Ronald!" The redhead ignored Hermione's scandalized cry, focused on his friend, who shrugged, looking weary.

"I...I guess I thought we'd get past this...issue...but I don't think we can." Hermione chewed her lower lip furiously, looking between him and Malfoy, before finally addressing the blonde, "You know what he is, don't you? That's what you meant when the rift opened about not being able to tell us." Malfoy gave her a look that communicated both disdain and 'duh', and so she returned her attention to Harry.

"So...what _are_ you? I've never heard of anything like this." Harry stifled a giggle at the absurdity of it all; that she could even _ask _that with a straight face was ridiculous at best.

"I'm Craven – so's Dad. We...aren't supposed to get along, I guess..." He was being evasive, and they knew it, but they were at a loss as to how they were supposed to pull him from his defenses. Ron shared a look with Hermione, frustrated; they'd pushed through a lot to help Harry, and now as much as last year, he resisted their help and love, but somehow it was worse. They were barely friends – hell, they were even in opposing Houses now, and Harry had little of his old character left, as far as they could see. Before they could broach the subject again, in another way, Harry's Warnings blazed, and he shot into a standing position, moving to block the three other students from his newly arrived father.

"Back to kill me, as opposed to faking your death and letting Voldemort do it?" The elder Potter ignored him, examining his companions coldly.

* * *

><p>Had he really be so blinded by blood-born hatred and anguish at Sirius's death that he overlooked the signs? Even now, his son (oh, how his parents would laugh...) stood in such a way that he invited no physical contact; his reaction to his fury in Dumbledore's office was indeed one of an abused child – be it emotional or physical, and he had no doubt that <em>Snape <em>had heaped emotional abuse on him when he arrived at Hogwarts. He fought the urge to scowl as his eyes swept over the others; a Weasley (oh, there were other gingers, but few had that particular bone structure, let alone the wardrobe), an unknown Muggleborn (probably the Ms. Granger Dumbledore had waxed eloquent over; gods, Muggleborns...), and one undeniable Malfoy – Draco Malfoy, unless Narcissa had somehow managed to give birth to more than one child. It wasn't that she was fragile – far from it – she was merely so inbred and simply not built for childbirth that it was unlikely that she managed more than her son here. He heard a timid, "Mr. Potter..." and let his eyes return to the Gryffindors. He didn't reply, fascinated by the determination in the otherwise uncertain face of the Muggleborn witch. She cleared her throat and straightened up a bit, offering her hand with a small, not quite genial smile.

"I'm Hermione Granger – I've been friends with your son since first year." Harry's eyes flicked to her and softened even as he stepped aside, daring his father to take her hand and not hurt her. It was all James could do not to bristle – he was Craven, not barbaric, and unlike a 'newborn', had few of the violent impulses to those not pureblooded. He took her hand, barely containing a grimace as the scent of fear surged off the Weasley.

"...A pleasure, Ms. Granger." He looked to the redhead, murmuring, "Mr. Weasley."

"Ron, sir." They were Gryffindors, all right – there was no way to mistake that determination in the face of what was more powerful than they. Another voice sounded behind them, and he was struck by innate dislike of the airy tones and unmistakable smell of frankincense incense. Harry's eyes widened, and James felt a moment of pity for him; those aligned to Mysteries were generally misunderstood, and it was especially difficult for Craven – they, along with necromancers, were some of the few who could not only endure a Craven's presence, but destroy them. The beaming, barefoot blonde floated past him, followed by a gangly young man he felt like he should recognize, and when he turned, did.

"Mr. Longbottom." The teen started, eyes narrowed a little, then nodded once, replying, "Mr. Potter." The blonde stopped in front of Harry, smile widening.

"Hello, Harry – you are well?" The younger Craven nodded slowly, eyes flicking between her and the door. Longbottom gently pulled her away from him, slipping an arm around her shoulders.

"Ron, Hermione, everyone's looking for you – McGonagall wants to see you," he stated blandly, eyes never leaving James.

"She'd like to see you as well, Mr. Potter, but as you are my senior I am far from obliged to demand your presence. Luna and I will be leaving," he directed his final comment to Harry, and lead the blonde out, while James debated leaving as well. The two Gryffindors left after a moment of silent debate, hugging Harry goodbye (apparently oblivious to his flinch and stiff bearing) and leaving him with his son and the bored looking Malfoy. Harry fidgeted, staring at the wall, ceiling, door – anywhere but at him. The tense, awkward silence continued, none willing to break it but none enjoying it either. He was debating simply leaving without explanation, when Harry rose and strode out with a terse explanation of, "I'll be in the dorms." Malfoy watched him leave, one leg crossed lazily over the other as he examined his fingernails.

_This is generally my cue to leave..._But there was some weight in the room keeping him still, a gathering tension waiting to snap. The blonde looked up as if to begin speaking, when James's mental analogy played out. It was a snapping sensation, like a rubber band settling back into place after being launched. Malfoy had sat up, eyes narrowed at James.

"What-"

"Time is righting itself."

* * *

><p>Nagini wound herself around her master, eyes locking onto the cowering form before them. Perfect prey – always running, scampering, whimpering; it stunk of fear, rank and heavy.<p>

"Wormtail...what have you to tell me now?" Nagini hissed and rose, swaying; the small man squeaked and flinched away, eyes darting around the dark room.

"M-Master – r-reports have come from H-Hogwarts-"

"Potter is alive, my Lord – and he is Craven." Hisses and gasps filled the air at Severus's words, and even the normally stoic Dark Lord leaned forward.

"Speak, Severus."

"He has rejoined the Order – but seems to care little for their goals. The inherent enmity between those of the Craven ranks and anyone who is not pureblooded, coupled with the natural animosity to his own son, has proven challenging for Dumbledore. I do not know what Potter's goals are, but I do know that his son is beginning to turn from the Light himself." Voldemort leaned further forward, red eyes glinting.

"Can we use Potter to deal with the brat?" Severus hesitated, eyes flicking around the table, before he cleared his throat.

"Perhaps."

* * *

><p>AN: Once I figured out what was up, everything just clicked. Twistin'. -salutes- Review, an it pleases ye.


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